Wolf Trap (Casey Reddick Book 1)

by Charles DeMaris

  “A lot better than a bunch of dead bodies.”

  “You really think there’s something to this? When was the last time one of these people was right about something?”

  “There was that ISIS leader we nabbed a couple years ago.”

  “Yeah, and this does look like a pretty well- built case. We’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks Steve. You nab anyone you think I might want to take a look at, you let me know.”

  “Sure, will do.”

  “Ahmed, good job there. Your report was succinct and to the point,” Jenny said, “This is exactly the reason I hired you. Let’s keep an eye out for anything else.”

  “Yeah, good job, buddy,” Casey said.

  “But knowing the government,” Avi said, “I’d still warn anyone you know not to take the bus tomorrow, just in case.”

  Casey’s phone buzzed with a new message and he opened it to see a photo of his sister and her boyfriend. Keisha was holding up her left hand showing off an engagement ring.

  “Guys, more good news. My sister just got engaged.”

  The next morning

  8:30 am

  Keisha picked up Julio at his apartment in Hyde Park and remembered something as she was pulling out.

  “Oh man, I forgot all about Mom’s appointment. Can you use my phone and order her an Uber?”

  “Keisha, this phone’s about dead. You don’t have a charger here?”

  “Took it in the house last night to charge my iPad. Must have forgotten it. I wonder why I was so distracted,” Keisha said as she leaned over and kissed Julio, “Should have enough juice for a text. I’ll get my brother to do it.”

  She was able to send a text before the battery died completely.

  Mom has Dr appointment. I forgot. Taking Julio to greyhound, phone almost dead, call mom uber please. Love K.

  Casey sat at his workstation monitoring his computer when his phone buzzed. He saw the text from his sister and ordered the Uber for his mother. After calling Mom to tell her what kind of car would be there to pick her up, he glanced at the text again. Keisha was taking her fiancée to the Greyhound station downtown.

  “Hey Ahmed, that threat on the bus stations? Did it specify city transit buses or highway buses?”

  “The way I read it, it wasn’t transit buses. It mentioned stations. I’m figuring stations like Greyhound. Why?”

  “Keisha’s taking her fiancée to Greyhound, just sent me a text.”

  Casey sent a text back telling her to stay away from the bus station but got no response, so he dialed her number. It went straight to voicemail. He left her a message.

  Keisha, don’t go to the bus station. Stay far away from there. I’ll explain later. It might be nothing, but don’t take any chances.

  He had a bad feeling about this. There had been no response from the CIA other than to thank Jenny for the information and they would pass it on to the appropriate people. He grabbed his keys and went upstairs, stopping in Jenny’s office to show her the text from his sister.

  “I tried to call her, but her phone’s going straight to voice mail. Maybe I can catch her before she gets there.”

  “Okay, Casey. Keep me posted.”

  Casey got in his car and pulled onto I-74 toward downtown. He tried to call her multiple times and kept getting voice mail. He put the phone down and pushed the accelerator. He had to warn her in time. What Avi said yesterday kept playing over in his mind. Knowing the government. What did the old man mean by that?

  He was pushing 90 mph when he looked in his mirror and noticed the flashing lights behind him.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he said as he slowed down and pulled over on the shoulder. By the time the trooper got to his window, he had his license and insurance card ready.

  “In a bit of a hurry there, boy?” the trooper asked.

  “Late to catch a bus, officer,” he replied, and to himself he thought, “Did he just call me boy?”

  “You been drinkin’, boy?”

  “No officer, not at 8:30 in the morning.”

  “Step out of the car please. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Casey complied and was subjected to a pat down search, a field sobriety test, and a thorough search of his car. He didn’t want to be testy to the trooper, but he had a feeling he knew why he was attracting extra attention. The trooper took his license, told him to wait right there, and went back to his patrol car.

  Time dragged on interminably. He wanted to try to call his sister again but he dared not reach for anything. He didn’t like this trooper one bit and the last thing he needed was a confrontation. Eventually the trooper came back with a speeding citation and gave Casey his license and insurance card back.

  “Didn’t recognize you at first, son. I’m a big fan. Still gotta give you the ticket, fast as you were goin’. Be careful and slow down, okay?”

  Casey got back into the car, precious minutes gone, and kept it at the speed limit the rest of the way.

  Talib Ibrahim drove his car down Gilbert Ave. approaching the Greyhound station. He was going to be one of six brothers who would strike a blow at the infidel this morning. Talib believed in the mission, but he also wasn’t as stupid as the other brothers. These were suicide missions and they had all been told their families would be well compensated for their sacrifice. He had no intention of sacrificing himself, but he had no intention of abandoning the mission either. He had re-wired the detonator to respond to a cell phone call. All he had to do was get the package inside the terminal and then get safely away before dialing the number and triggering the bomb.

  The device was in a small box. He had a hard time believing that something that size could pack such a powerful punch, but he had seen the demonstrations. This was much more powerful than any of the vests normally used, apparently a new explosive developed by Al Thi’b himself. If he got a few blocks away before triggering it, he should be safe. The same couldn’t be said for those in the building.

  As he turned onto Court St. in front of the station, he was trying to figure out how to get the bomb into the station and get back out without arousing suspicion. The answer came to him instantly. There was a homeless man walking by asking people for assistance. He had a cart he was pushing around containing his belongings and cans and other odds and ends he had picked up. Talib stopped his car behind a taxi and waited. Sure enough, the man approached his car.

  “Sir, anything you can do to help. I’m hungry.”

  “I was hoping for someone to help me out. Can you help me out? I can pay you.”

  “How much?”

  Talib pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and the man’s eyes got wide. He then pulled a worn photo out of his wallet and showed it to the man.

  “I need to get this package to my niece. She’s getting ready to board a bus. Here, take the photo. Here’s the package. I would take it in, but I’m terribly late for a meeting.”

  The man took the package and the photo and walked toward the entrance of the station, pocketing the fifty dollars as he went.

  Keisha parked the car in front of the station and Julio got his bag out of the trunk. Before he walked inside, she put her arms around him and gave him a lingering kiss.

  “You get back here fast. I’ll be waiting.”

  “If you greet me the same way when I get back, I might be tempted to return early.”

  “Just so you don’t forget what’s waiting for you,” she said, and kissed him again, “I’ll see you later. Love you.”

  “Love you, babe,” he said before walking into the station.

  She went to close the trunk and took a second look. There was her phone charger. How did she leave it in there? She plugged her phone in as she pulled away from the station to head home. While she was waiting at the red light, her phone came back on and she saw the text from Casey. She then listened to her voice mail, heard the panic in his voice, and pulled a quick U turn back into the parking lot at the Greyhound station. She ran into the
station, knocking two people out of the way, and scanned the interior for Julio. He was nowhere to be seen. She looked for the gate for the bus heading for Chicago and ran that way, wondering why there was a homeless guy walking around holding a package and staring at a photograph.

  Talib watched the homeless man walk into the station and pulled a U turn to get onto 8th St. He drove west on 8th until he got to Race, pulled off to the curb, and made a phone call.

  Casey was on Central Parkway heading east, the frustration building with each red light. He was frustrated at the lights and frustrated at himself for getting pulled over. If he had only been driving slower, he would already be there. He could see the casino ahead and he knew the bus station was next to the casino. He was still six blocks away when there was a thunderclap and a plume of smoke rose into the sky.

  7

  Casey pulled over and dialed her number, feeling like he had been punched in the gut. Straight to voicemail again. He knew what had just happened, could only pray she wasn’t there for some reason. Maybe she dropped him off and left. Maybe his bus had already left. Maybe they were stuck in traffic and didn’t make it. His mind went through numerous scenarios involving them not being there when the bomb went off, but his gut told him something different. He drove on, the feeling of dread growing with each block, until he turned down Eggleston and couldn’t get any closer. He pulled the car over on the curb and continued on foot.

  He ran down Court St. by the back side of the casino and looking ahead where the bus station should be there was only a pile of rubble. The bomb had been more than powerful enough to level the building, even doing damage to the casino’s parking garage. First responders were arriving now and were attempting to make sense of the pile of smoldering rubble.

  The pain in his knee slowed him down and he was limping slightly when he arrived. The scene was complete chaos. Firefighters and police were there and EMTs were treating wounded who were caught in the blast outside the building. There were bodies lying outside and pieces of bodies could be seen here and there. He was still holding out hope that she wasn’t there, but that hope died when he spotted her car. She had pulled up to the curb along Court St. That was strange. She should have been parked in front of the building when she dropped him off. This looked like she had left and come back.

  Even if she had left, it’s unlikely she would have gotten far. Cars that were on Gilbert Ave fared no better than the ones parked near the building. He nearly retched when he saw the taxi his sister had parked behind, the dead driver still in the front seat.

  “Move along, buddy, let us through,” a police officer said, “Are you hurt?”

  “No sir, just got here. My sister’s in there.”

  “You might want to stay out of the way.”

  There were firefighters in the rubble and he could see dogs sniffing around. One firefighter was on a radio and he heard snippets of what he said.

  “Don’t think we’re gonna find anyone alive in the building. Wounded from the casino garage. Might be someone alive in the cars on Gilbert.”

  His knee was throbbing and he sat down, leaning against the charred remains of his sister’s car, and wept. How long he sat there, he couldn’t recall, but after a few moments he felt a hand on his shoulder. There was a police officer kneeling down to check on him.

  “You okay, son? You need treatment?”

  “No officer, I got here after. My sister…”

  “Was your sister in there?”

  “This…this is her car…dropping off her boyfriend…bus to Chicago.”

  “Joe, carry on. I’m gonna need a minute,” the officer said to a colleague, and to Casey, “I’m sorry.”

  He sat down and put his arm around Casey’s shoulder. The two of them watched the firefighters moving about in the rubble.

  “Wait, you Casey Reddick?”

  “Yeah, officer.”

  “Thought you looked familiar. Your sister was here?”

  “She was dropping off her fiancée. I was trying to get ahold of her…phone was dead…she didn’t answer…drove here to try to catch her…got held up and got here late. I was on Central when it went off. This is her car.”

  “Well, Casey…”

  “What am I gonna tell Mama?”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You think anyone survived?”

  “I doubt it son, I really doubt it.”

  Casey handed the officer a card. “Here’s my number. If you find anything…”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks, officer…gotta go pick up my mom. Keisha was gonna pick her up.”

  “Your car close? You’re not walking so well.”

  “Parked it over by the jail.”

  “Hold on. Give you a ride, okay?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Fifteen minutes later Casey arrived to pick up Wilma from the doctor. He walked into the lobby and she was there with the other patients and office staff watching the TV. There was live footage of the bomb scene with a reporter standing by. The station cut back to the studio and the anchor, who was saying Cincinnati was one of six attacks at bus stations across the Midwest. They were watching in stunned silence until someone noticed Casey standing in the doorway, covered in dust.

  Wilma took one look at Casey, remembered why he had called her an Uber to get there, and collapsed into the nearest chair. Casey sat next to her and she leaned into him, burying her head in his shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably. He put his arm around her and stroked her hair.

  “Oh, Mama…oh, Mama…”

  Jenny ran out of the elevator and to Ahmed’s desk. Earl and Nathan were already standing there. Ahmed had one of his screens on the live feed from Fox News and on the other screens he was monitoring jihadist web sites. The TV coverage kept switching from one city to the next, but the images were much the same.

  “You know what’s weird,” Ahmed said, “In all the other cities, there appeared to be a suicide bomber. Look at this screen here.”

  He showed video footage from the other stations and in each one there was a young man entering the station right before the blast.

  “But look at the footage from here. This car pulls up and just sits here. Then the beggar comes up to the window and the man gives him a package and some money and gets out of there fast. Looks like he hit 8th St. and went west. The blast happened five minutes later.”

  “Man, how you get all that footage?” Earl asked.

  “Traffic cams. They’re everywhere these days.”

  “So, this jerk chickened out on the martyr part, but gave the homeless dude the bomb. How he get that dude to walk in there with it?”

  “The beggar probably didn’t know he was carrying a bomb. It looks like he has something in his other hand as he’s walking in and he keeps looking at it. A photo maybe?”

  “You’re probably right. The bomb looks like a package. You think he gave the bum money and told him to deliver that to someone then got out of there quick before it went off.”

  “That’s exactly what I think happened. I think he planned it. The others martyred themselves, but not this guy. I’ve been scanning cell phone calls and found a call placed at the time of the blast. That call originated from a cell phone in the vicinity of 8th and Race. You go west on Gilbert and you hit 8th. I think he rigged the bomb with a cell phone detonator and drove a few blocks away before calling to set it off.”

  “Does that info help us any?”

  “It could. The phone wasn’t a…what do you call it…a burner. Give me a few minutes and I think I can have the name on the account. The moron should have used a different phone.”

  The phone on Ahmed’s desk rang and he picked it up.

  “It’s Casey. I’m putting it on speaker.”

  “Hi Casey, please tell me you’re okay,” Jenny said.

  “Other than my knee, I’m okay. I…I didn’t get to her in time.”

  “Was she in the building?”

  “Yeah, foun
d her car out front. It was bad, real bad. Building flattened. Cops said no survivors inside. Folks in the casino were hurt.”

  “If you need to take a break…”

  “I’m on the way. Got Mama with me.”

  “You don’t have to come in.”

  “Yes,I do. We have work to do. Mama didn’t want to go home. She’s with me. I told her everything.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you when you get here.”

  Jenny kept the phone on speaker, did a quick search, and dialed another number, making sure the call was encrypted and untraceable.

  Doug Prescott was in the Oval Office discussing the attacks with President Michael Brooks when his cell phone rang.

  “Go ahead and take that if you must,” the president said.

  He answered the call and immediately pulled the phone away from his ear to distance himself from the barrage.

  “I’m with the president,” he said.

  “I don’t care if you’re with the bloody queen,” Jenny said, “You’re going to hear me out. Better yet, put it on speaker. Let the president hear this.”

  “Who is that?” Brooks asked

  “Some private intelligence outfit.”

  “Go ahead and put the phone on speaker, Prescott. President Brooks ought to hear this as well.”

  He put the phone on speaker and President Brooks tried to take control.

  “This is President Michael Brooks. What’s going on, and how did you get my CIA director’s private cell phone number?”

  “I’m good at looking things up, Mr. President.”

  The president felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his pocket. There was a text message from an unknown number that simply said, “Got yours, too.”

  “How in the hell…”

  “Don’t you speak like that to me. You hear me out. Did I not send you a detailed report yesterday? Did you not have plenty of time to prevent this attack?”